


i am this poem

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Ark AU, Canon Compliant, Everyone Thinks They're Together, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Graffiti, Long-Distance Relationship, Pen Pals, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 18:53:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25720129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: Bellamy writes on the wall. Clarke writes back.A Bellarke one-shot for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 4: long-distance relationship.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	i am this poem

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really into Ark AUs right now I guess! The title of this one comes from some graffiti I saw once. No known author to credit, unfortunately!

Bellamy buys the chalk for Octavia on a whim. They’re three stubbly bits of color, peeking out of the merchant’s folded display cloth and Bellamy has a sudden vision of Octavia’s round eyes lighting up as she covers her hiding spot under the floor with fanciful drawings.

The writing on the wall is a whim too. He’s waiting to go into Earth Skills class, rocking back on his heels and tapping the flats of his palms on the wall behind him. Mr. Pike is going late again and Bellamy shoves his restless fingers into his pocket to toy with his purchase of the morning. The rounded edges of the chalk sticks slide around his fingers and he’s seized with the sudden impulse to pull one out. It’s a dark blue, leaving thick smudges like oil stains across the insides of his knuckles. The wall behind him is smooth and bare and before he can stop himself he writes, “Bellamy was here” in his blocky handwriting. The chalk is smooth along the metal paneling, the blue growing more vivid against the new surface. He likes the way the colored trails look, tiny grains of chalk sticking out along the edges where the steady weight of his hand didn’t push them into a uniform line.

The door to Mr. Pike’s classroom finally opens and Bellamy shoves the chalk back into his pocket before anyone else notices. Still, as he pushes through the press of students to find a seat, he feels a little bubble of excitement, like he’s left his mark on the day. A stupid mark, but something that wasn’t there before. The janitors will clean it off tonight, but for now, his name, in his own handwriting, marks the Ark in bright blue. Octavia will get a good laugh out of the story anyways.

Earth Skills for seniors is only two days a week, so Bellamy doesn’t go back to Mr. Pike’s classroom for a day, but when he does he’s surprised to see that not only is his writing still on the wall, there’s more writing underneath it.

The white chalk writing is thinner than his own, a little more tremulous, but the letters are curved with more finesse. A girl’s handwriting, if he had to guess, that spelled out “Clarke was here too”. For some reason the response makes him chuckle. A straightforward honesty with a little bit of inherent snark to it.

He doesn’t have Octavia’s colored chalk with him unfortunately, so he can’t write something back. Then he scoffs at himself for his first thought being to “write back”. As if a few lines of graffiti mean anything.

Still the response stays with him over the weekend, the light handwriting imprinted on the backs of eyelids.

The next time he has Earth Skills, he slips the yellow piece of chalk out of Octavia’s hole before he leaves. The wall has finally been wiped clean, but he doesn’t hesitate as he scrawls over where his previous writing was, “Bellamy was here first”.

He’s almost nervous as he waits the day between his classes to check the wall again. Part of him wants to turn down Mr. Pike’s hallway the next day anyways, just to see if anyone has answered yet, but some unspoken rule of this little game keeps him from cheating.

The next day doesn’t disappoint as his saucy message has been answered with another in white, “Bellamy needs to not be an ass”.

Bellamy’s laugh as he pulls out his red piece of chalk, makes several of his classmates look over with some confusion before looking away shaking their heads. He ignores them, quickly jotting down his next message, “Maybe Clarke needs to loosen up a little.”

Just like the previous week, he has to wait the entire weekend before he sees Clarke’s next message, alone on the otherwise clean wall: “I can have fun! And where did you get so many colors?”

He feels a pang of regret as he writes out, “I only have the three. Traded for them at the Exchange last week.”

“I wish I had some blue. It would look nice in my bedroom.”

“You draw?”

“I love it! Do you?”

“Just a little. Check the floor.”

Bellamy worries his lip between his teeth as he hurries to class, hoping against hope that the chunk of blue chalk he tucked into the dented seam between the floor and the wall hadn’t been picked up by another curious student. As soon as he reaches the wall his fears are allayed by Clarke’s bolder than usual message, “Thank you so much for the blue!”

He’s sure his smile reaches his ears. He’s smiling more and more now. Even his mother comments on it once, reaching over to ruffle his hair like she used to when he was little. Octavia is convinced he has a girlfriend and she insists on interrogating him multiple nights a week. But the truth feels more magical, more like something that can’t ever be broken. Bellamy doesn’t know what to call Clarke, isn’t even sure if he’s talking to a girl or a boy, but he loves the way they talk, the way he can read hidden tones in every message. The two days of Earth Skills are his favorites days of the week.

One day, he’s a little surprised by Clarke’s message, the strokes of the writing a little jerkier than usual, like they were slashed across the wall with some heat.

“My friends don’t believe that you’re my boyfriend. They think I made you up.”

He blinks at the message. Blinks again.

Then smirks at the idea of Clarke surrounded by school friends, teasing incessantly about the mysterious messages. They’ve never talked about anything like this before, but the way Clarke’s temper had obviously been stoked meant that this was important. And Bellamy was nothing if not helpful.

He rolls his yellow chalk deftly between his fingers. “Wow, rude friends. Of course I exist.”

He hesitates before leaning in to add, “And you look really beautiful. Don’t let them tell you otherwise.”

It’s a bit of a gamble, assuming Clarke wants to be called beautiful, but Bellamy is confident in their bond. And if he has to fake being a doting boyfriend, he’s not going to half-ass it.

He can almost hear the triumphant laughter from Clarke’s next message, “THANK YOU. And you look very handsome.”

The new dimension to their messages brings him a different kind of thrill and he idly wonders as the weeks pass if Clarke can feel it too. He wears his yellow chalk down to a nub and the red one isn’t far behind. Frantically, he makes a trip to the Exchange without telling his mother and trades a whole day of his rations for some green chalk and a color that the merchant tries to convince him is orange but comes out looking more like rust than anything else. Bellamy doesn’t care as long as he can keep writing to Clarke.

When she ends a message with “I love you”, Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to answer, “I love you too.” It keeps him up that night, how easily the words flowed from his hand. He justifies it to himself. Her friends read the messages after all and they’re still keeping up the dating facade. He had to answer. It’s part of the game. Part of the thrill.

He wishes he knew how much of this was real now.

It feels real as he writes “I’m graduating this year.”

It feels too real when Clarke writes “That’s too bad. You’re fun to talk to.”

“Just fun?”

“Very fun. Sweetie.”

The clench of his heart and the ache in his throat is very, very real.

“Right. Sweetie.”

“I’ll miss you, Bellamy.”

His last class with Mr. Pike, his last stub of chalk, the rusty pebble rolling between his fingertips and threatening to disappear entirely. Clarke wrote the last message in blue, the shade he left in the floor as a gift.

He licks his dry lips, forcing his hand to the wall.

How do you say goodbye to someone you never met?

“I’ll miss you too-” the chalk turns to a brown smudge of dust against his finger as he struggles to write Clarke’s name.

“No, no, no damn it!” he sputters. Desperately rubs his chalky finger along the wall to spell out the name, but he can only get to the L before it fades into thin streaks and then nothing.

He steps back, heart pounding, eyes dry and throbbing. It will have to do.

It has to do.

He goes home and lies in bed. Listens to Octavia’s soft snores and his mother’s restless tossing and turning. He rolls over and over, thinking about flowing white chalk and a voice with no sound. Traces Clarke’s name in the creases of his blanket, just to satisfy himself that he can. 

“I’ll miss you too.”


End file.
